


Work It, Baby

by genagirl



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genagirl/pseuds/genagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys discuss tube steak or some other type of meaty parts.  LOL</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work It, Baby

Work It, Baby

by Gena 

 

Jim Ellison walked into the bullpen and quiet descended like a Cone of Silence (yet without the ugly cone things). He halted, sunlight streaking through the venetian blinds (which were really manufactured in Spokane) and strategically dancing over the muscles of his perfect chest 

"Hey, Ellison," Henri Brown called, "put a shirt on, man (this was a common complaint)!" Ellison ignored the rebuff (another common occurrence) and headed for his desk and the young, long-haired, full-lipped, smoky- eyed, anthropologist cum (don’t go there) police observer who sat there. 

"Chief," Ellison greeted his partner, one hand coming up to tangle in the luxurious cascade of curls while the other wandered aimlessly over the younger man’s body only to disappear beneath the top of the desk. 

"Jim!" Blair squeaked. His big eyes got even bigger as his partner’s happiness at seeing him took on gigantic proportions (as did his own...gladness).

"Ah," Jim sighed, his sky blue eyes (cerulean, azure, cornflower....), "apple scented shampoo again. You know, Chief, I have this thing about apples (why that’s Criminal). You smell good enough to eat."

"Jim," Blair carefully removed the hand threatening to damage his curls (as well as the one threatening to damage his manhood) and directed his partner’s gaze to the computer screen. "Look! I’ve dug through a thousand files, traced five bogus bank accounts, run down the FBI’s most wanted list by zip code and located Jimmy Hoffa’s remains (when did he become the resident computer geek?)."

Ellison sighed and sat down beside his partner. "Yeah, that’s great, Blair (it’s fiction, he can call him Blair if I want him to). But did you get any info on that little...job opportunity I asked you about?"

Sandburg cast a glance around the room. Everyone seemed busy doing......cop things (backgound!). "Jim, I really think you should consider moonlighting as something you’ve got experience doing." He used those wicked eyebrows to encourage his partner to do just that (kinda looked like two caterpillars mating on his forehead) but Jim merely stared at him (his expression vaguely disgusted by the caterpillar image). 

"Look, Chief," Jim reasoned, moving impossibly closer, one hand tapping Sandburg’s cheek (I love it when he does that), "the insurance company won’t pay for another vehicle. They said something about my driving skills not being up to standards (their exact words had been "For the love of God please take the bus - but watch out for the Switchman! )." Ellison shrugged and leaned closer to whisper in Sandburg’s ear, "besides, I’ve got experience." 

Blair couldn’t repress the shiver which started in his toes and went speeding along the neural pathways to the top of his head. 

"Are you cold?" Jim asked, draping an arm around his friend. This produced two reactions simultaneously 1) Blair shivered harder and 2) every cop in the place exchanged a knowing look and a fist full of money (Rafe had that night in the betting pool). 

"Jim, how did you get this experience?" Blair asked. He met his partner’s eyes (see description above) with a pleading look (the kind which can bring nation’s to their knees, change the course of history and make you hock your jewelry for plane fare to Vancouver....er, Cascade).

"I’m a man of many talents, Sandburg," he confided. "You ever see Risky Business (who is that cutehooker)? Been there, done that (which explains the cheap wig). Now, let’s see what you’ve got." Sandburg shrugged and handed his partner the printout he’d pulled from the net.

LATER THAT NIGHT:

"Jim?" Blair could actually feel his eyes popping and the blood surging to fill his face (just before it rushed south and took all resistance with it). His straight-laced, flannel lovin’ partner was wearing a tight white sleeveless undershirt and black jeans (and you don’t even have to use your imagination just look at the front cover!) and the dreamiest (eat your heart out David Cassidy) expression he’d ever seen.

"What’s wrong, Chief?" Ellison sauntered (work it, baby) towards his partner, stopping only when he’d invaded the other’s personal space. "Don’t you like what I’m wearing?"

"L-like?" Sandburg swallowed the words poised to tumble from his mouth, words like ‘you look so fucking gorgeous I’d like to lick every inch of your body’ and merely nodded. "Uh, yeah Jim I like what you’re wearing, ....I don’t know, aren’t you cold? Can you breath in that? What if someone...," he made a jerking motion with his hand, "you know , wants a sample?" 

"Sandburg," Jim explained, "I’m trying to sell (oh, wrap it up and I’ll take it home). I wanna generate some interest here."

"Generated," Blair assured him, wiping sweat which trickled into his eyes. "It’s just...well," he floundered around, finally shrugging and saying, "it’s your gig." He waved Jim through the door and followed him down to where the truck was parked, making a mental note to himself to check ellison for fingerprints later. A short drive following Blair’s directions and they were pulling up in one of the seamier sides of Cascade (nowhere near Denman and Davie, I swear). Ellison smirked at a couple of urban cowboys strolling along and watched them give him an appraising eye.

"Great location, Sandburg," Jim said. "Lot’s of action, a hotel down the street (reasonable rates and color TV - oooh), and an all night launderette."

"Jim," Blair brushed his long hair out of his face and took a deep breath before asking, "you do have...protection, right? I mean you know the risks and all that so I hope you’re....prepared." 

"Blair," Jim said with a soft smile, "trust me, I know what I’m doing." (Even if he didn’t, with that face and body who’d care?) "I appreciate your concern but I’ve got to earn a little cash here. Now, are we in this together or do I go it alone?"

"You mean....," Sandburg paused, a blush creeping over his cheeks (not those cheeks, so stop peeking), "you think anyone would...you know...with the two of us here?"

"Chief," Jim rolled his eyes and shook his head, "two working for the price of one. They’d eat it up, so to speak." He waited, seeing the spark in Blair’s eye, he smiled, "Come on, let’s sell it!"

Working like a well oiled (conjures a nice image, doesn’t it?) machine the two men set to work earning a few extra bucks. It was hard work; pushing, heaving, straining muscles, enduring the occasional unsatisfied customer, those who didn’t tip, those who wanted the "extras". By the time they’d closed shop both men were exhausted. Jim cast a glance over at his smaller friend and suppressed the urge to wrap him up in his arms and hold him tight - Blair wouldn’t want that at the moment.

"Man, I stink," Sandburg complained bitterly taking a big whiff of himself. "I can smell ‘em all, every last stinking one of them!"

"Come on, Chief," Jim soothed, "it wasn’t so bad was it?"

"Bad? No, it wasn’t bad," Blair retorted, "not if you like to be pawed at all night, people grabbing it outta your hands before you can even get it wrapped properly. Haven’t these jerks heard of hygiene?" (Hi, Gene!)

"I’m sorry I got you into this, Blair," Jim told him. He pull his friend into his embrace and planted a kiss against Blair’s forehead. "If it makes you feel any better we made $700 tonight (that’s $525 American)." He pulled away, "I’ll do it on my own tomorrow, promise."

"No, no we’re in this together, partner," Blair whispered. He snagged two fists full of Jim’s undershirt and tugged him back close, eyes smoky with unspoken emotions. "Now, can we go home?"

"Sure thing, Chief." Twenty minutes, sweat streaked but satisfied, they climbed into the Ford’s cab. "You know, this Mr. Tube Steak franchise is a great opportunity." (Get your minds out of the gutter, what did you think they were selling?)

He looked back at the pushcart he and Blair had loaded into the truck, "who would’ve thought there’d be so much money in a little stick of beef?"

"Beef like substance," Blair corrected. "All I know, partner, is it’s protein packed and mighty tasty!" (I have a feeling he wasn’t taking about Mr. Tube Steak, or was he?

 

End…


End file.
